


Most Easily Seen

by darkwood



Series: One Friendly Star [2]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Episode 3, F/M, Gen, Ichabod POV, Mentions of Katrina Crane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkwood/pseuds/darkwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No real spoilers, as with "Morning Sun", but knowledge of "For the Triumph of Evil" is vastly, amazingly helpful. </p><p>Yet another morning after when all he'd really like to do is sleep, but events seem to conspire against Ichabod.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

         There was a certain sense of false accomplishment in it all. A job well done… or at least a task. Ichabod could allow that much. It would be inaccurate to say that the job was complete. Just as he had said to Miss Mills, there was no cause for intricate wording to disguise the truth of things. There was a long road ahead of them, if the scripture were to be believed, and this was not the least of their troubles.

 

         Rather than slip out of the archives through the tunnels, Ichabod sank back into the cushion of the chair he had just vacated. Both Miss Mills and the so-called Captain of Miss Mills’ department had left the premises. The man had promised honest access to their private headquarters.

 

         The man seemed otherwise unwilling to expand his thinking to allow for the very real situation they found themselves in, and Miss Mills seemed determined to facilitate his self-delusion on the matter. Of course the man, being a captain of law enforcement, had more mundane matters to concern himself with. Human nature seemed to have developed a thirst for showing its darkest parts over the years, a fact that Ichabod was slowly becoming acquainted with, much to his own horror.

 

         Miss Mills undoubtedly had her reasons, and as she was otherwise a faithful compass in this new time that he found himself, Ichabod trusted her judgment about matters of this time even (and oftentimes especially) when he disagreed with them. There was so much that he did not know, that he would need to learn, Ichabod was quite nearly overwhelmed by it.

 

         It had, however, been quite a long day. Given the legitimization of their retreat, Ichabod felt it only right that he rest a moment and appreciate not having to come and go through the rainwater system that they had been utilizing to make access to the location.

 

         He had long since concluded that Miss Mills was only calling it such to keep his stomach settled. He rather thought that what collected in those pipes was sewage. If not he had significant questions regarding the generalized sanitation of the water supply.

 

         The morning light fell through the round windows, but the warmth of it was welcome. Daylight could not, after the recent events, be considered harmless, but it did seem to offer some form of protection from that which most plagued them.

 

         Or at least it did if he forwent close examination of all the facts thus acquired.

 

         Blissfully, Ichabod found himself too weary to attempt the exercise. His thoughts were present but not pressing. The smell of the archive room was comforting, almost as though there was some bit of home in the dust and the scent of the old things that were stored there. It was not long before he fell asleep.

 

         After so many nights without, Ichabod expected a dream to come with slumber. In a way he longed for it. Though it was not real, he could not converse with Katrina in any manner that he knew to actually communicate with her, the sight of his absent wife was a comfort. When he was awake, Miss Mills was present and served as a most competent guide to this new world that he found himself it. He was not alone in her company, and though they did not always share the same opinions, they were united against the forces against them. When he was asleep, however, Ichabod felt himself alone. In his dreams he was adrift in a realm fraught with hellish nightmares, and perhaps worse than the horrific creatures he faced or the fear they instilled was his solitary state in meeting them. When Katrina appeared before him in warning, the sight of her – always so frantic for him, so concerned – was enough to remind him that he was not alone whilst in the grip of a nightmare. So though he did not long for troubled sleep, he did not shy from it. Tonight, however, or rather this morning, there was nothing to greet him in the space beyond wakefulness.

 

         He was woken by a presence in the room.

 

         His muscles tensed – a feat made more miraculous after the languor following the venom he had been dosed with earlier – but he forced himself to breathe steadily and remain somewhat limp in his chair. Military training had been swift for him, and felt long ago, now, but it was simple common sense that if something had entered a room it might not notice that which did not move.

 

         Whatever was with him moved, and Ichabod recognized the sound of Miss Mills’ footsteps. He opened his eyes slowly to regard her. The sun was not shining into the archive room so much as the windows were glowing. The day must have advanced during his dreamless sleep.

 

         Miss Mills stood, staring at the floor in front of her. Her shoulders were tense, her hands in a stiff position where her thumbs were looped into her belt. Her expression was blank, disturbingly so given what they had seen and faced the night before. She did not speak, nor did she look up or call his name. Her posture reminded him of a marionette being held in arrest of movement, and Ichabod felt a rush of wrongness at the very thought of Miss Mills under the direction of some force beyond her own capable control.

 

         Something was, undoubtedly and very seriously wrong.

 

         Ichabod waited.

 

         Miss Mills maintained her rigid posture.

 

         Obviously, patience would not allow for the necessary conditions to induce her to speak. She may not have even noticed he had rejoined her in wakefulness. At first, he thought to speak, but then thought the better of it. Startling Miss Mills when she was agitated was likely to result in some defensive response. His military training may feel old, but he did not fail to remember that her sidearm was strapped to the belt that she still wore, and more that it was loaded. He had not the occasion to fault her marksmanship, though he had not measured her accuracy, but in an enclosed space and with the advances in technology that had come to the firearm, he had no doubt she could put a bullet in him simply on reflex.

 

         It had been a difficult day for her, and a miserable night. She was so steadfast a companion, so stoic in her manner that it was easy to allow that she was unaffected by the events they were embroiled in. Her denial the day before was a normal reaction to such circumstances, one that he himself should have undergone were it not for repeated, irrefutable proof.  Ichabod’s arm throbbed in pain at the memory of the confrontation.

 

         He shifted on the chair, as though just waking. The wool of his jacket made some noise, and his boots on the floor some other.

 

         Miss Mills looked up at him, eyes wide and blinking as though she were forcing something from them. Her nostrils flared as she took in a deep breath. Still, she offered no words.

 

         Something she said earlier came to mind. What was it? Eyes resting on her now and taking in the height of her shoulders and the heave of her torso as she continued to draw deep breaths against whatever onslaught she was suffering in her mind, he recalled the exact words she had said, ‘a story for another day’.

 

         Right.

 

         Pushing to his feet, Ichabod straightened his clothing. He could still taste that strange tea in the back of his mouth beyond the dryness that had set in from the affects of the venom.

 

         Miss Mills’ eyes followed him as he stood, lifting to keep trained on his face as he did so.

 

         “Shall we go?” Ichabod asked, turning for the door that lead the proper, aboveground route from the archives. He did not wait for Miss Mills, he did not hold the door for her. It would defeat the purpose.

 

         She caught up to him as he pushed the front doors open, heels clicking loudly in the corridor. “Crane,” she said, tone sounding piqued.

 

         There was an eatery, one that the lieutenant called a ‘diner’, near enough to the stationhouse and the archives that they had partaken of meals there previously when an hour or so appeared in an otherwise outlandishly stressful series of events. The lieutenant had stated, more than once, that she could think better when she had something in her stomach.

 

         Ichabod was not entirely sure he approved of the combination of ingredients that were used to create what was for sale within, but the meals he had there were hot and filling. It was more than could be said for any number of the other things that Miss Mills seemed to ingest, and the setting seemed to calm her when she was troubled.

 

         Once outside, it was easy to keep ahead of her. The lieutenant had a determined stride, but her legs were not the length of his, and her boots, while probably in fashion, were less sensible than his own. That seemed a somewhat unfortunate consequence of footwear, moreso for ladies than gentlemen, at least to his current observation.

 

         “Crane!” called after him, voice turning from pique into a more colorful irritation.

 

         Once they neared the diner, Ichabod slowed.

 

         Miss Mills reached him, breathing heavily. Her lips were twisted in what was not quite a frown, and she set her shoulders. “What was that about?”

 

         She no longer appeared to be blank as she had in the archives.

 

         Thankfully, Ichabod had rested enough that he was no longer too weary to fashion the truth to suit his needs. He reached forward and opened the door to the diner. “My stomach has demanded some attention.”

 

         Miss Mills rolled her eyes at him, and shook her head, but stepped through the door into the eatery with nothing more than a mutter that Ichabod did not bother listening to.


	2. Chapter 2

         The meal went as expected. Miss Mills seemed preoccupied with whatever news she had not yet felt able to offer, and Ichabod allowed her silence. Rather than press her unduly, he ate as much of the food he had ordered as he felt hungry for, and then finished it off with a mind that it might be some hours until he ate again.

 

         It was as he was polishing off the remains of his meal that he felt eyes on him. In the past that had been an unpleasant experience for him. Most often when something was staring it had to do with danger. It was not polite to simply gaze upon someone. It implied familiarity and intent.

 

         “I’m waiting,” she said.

 

         Miss Mills, he thought as he looked up at her, had very brown eyes.

 

         “What, precisely, are you waiting for?”

 

         “Your usual nosy questioning.”

 

         Ichabod set down the cutlery and dabbed the last of his meal from his lips, careful to be sure there was nothing in his facial hair before he folded the napkin next to his plate. “I have noticed that my interest in your state of mind disquiets you, lieutenant.”

 

         Her brows lifted, though Ichabod could not discern if the expression was in disbelief or some other emotion.

 

         “Contrary to your obvious belief in the opposite, I do listen when you express yourself.”

 

         “I see.”

 

         “Earlier you intoned that I did not have an appropriate sense of timing in regards to asking you personal questions. As you did not seem ready to speak of what bothered you when you returned, I thought I should take your advice.”

 

         “My advice?”

 

         “You indicated that it would be better to wait to ask you some questions, I am attempting to heed your decree.”

 

         Her brows drew together in a manner that Ichabod could only see as frustration. She folded her arms on her chest and sat back against the booth with a shake of her head. “So _now_ you start listening to me.”

 

         Ichabod frowned. “That had been my intention… yes.” He contemplated her for a moment. “Perhaps it was an ill considered decision.”

 

         She stared out the window.

 

         “What happened?”

 

         For a moment, Miss Mills said nothing. Her upper lip twitched, drawing back slightly to reveal that her teeth were clenched. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath through her nose. Ichabod was certain she intended to say nothing, but she surprised him with, “Jenny’s missing.”

 

         The timbre of her voice as she said those words was stoic, and Ichabod could not be unaffected by it. Somehow the sensation of loss transferred itself to him, and his stomach clenched around the questionable things he had just eaten. He glanced up, looking away from the lieutenant to catch the eye of the serving woman in a gesture he had seen others do when they requested the bill for their meal.

 

         When he looked back, Miss Mills was staring at him expectantly.

 

         “We should go.”

 

         “That’s _it?_ ” Miss Mills asked, tone sharp. Her eyes were narrowed, and the slant of her lips as she pressed them together was one he had learned did not bode well for those in the way of her displeasure.

 

         Ichabod frowned. “If your sister is missing, then we have tarried long enough here. Remaining further would-”

 

         A breathy laugh cut him off. Miss Mills’ expression slacked, and she tipped her head back. Her lips quirked in a little bit of a smile. “That’s the Crane I know,” she said.

 

         The check arrived, and she pulled her wallet out. The card that she used to pay for things was handed to the serving woman, and the woman headed off with a polite comment to them. Miss Mills shook her head at Ichabod again, but it was not the stiff motion of earlier. She seemed far more relaxed.

 

         “I have done something that pleases you,” Ichabod said, uncertainly.

 

         “Let’s just go with yes at this point,” Miss Mills replied.


End file.
